You Might Know How it Feels
by Deep Forest Green
Summary: "Enlighten me." One evening in the Café Musain, Enjolras and Grantaire discover that they have much more in common than they had supposed. Gen oneshot.


**Inspired by the Family Guy episode "Padre de Familia" where Peter remarks that loving one's country is like "loving God or a stepparent. You never really feel 'em love you back, but that's okay because they got other stuff going on and you understand." Might not be the exact quote, so sue me. Not really. **

* * *

"What does it feel like, Apollo?"

"What does what feel like?" the marble man responded in confusion.

"Loving your country. Do you ever feel it love you back?"

Enjolras took a step back. "What on earth do you mean, Grantaire?" he asked, slightly disturbed.

"I mean what I said. Is it a satisfying emotion? Tell me, I'd honestly like to know." Grantaire's tone was playful, teasing yet thoughtful. He got up out of his chair and raised his eyebrows in anticipation of an answer.

"In her own way, I think Patria loves all her citizens," said Enjolras somewhat evasively. "Especially those ones who dedicate themselves to her welfare, as I am doing."

"Isn't that a bit hypocritical?" Grantaire scoffed. "I thought Patria loved all her citizens equally."

"She loves them equally regardless of their social status," Enjolras clarified. "She judges them based on their actions, not on arbitrary factors beyond their control, such as class."

"You're still doing it, Enjolras."

"Doing what?" Enjolras' irritation was growing.

"Talking about France as if she's human. Which, let's face it, she's not. She doesn't have thoughts or desires or feelings. She doesn't even exist, not really. She only exists because we've all agreed that she does. Take that away, and she's just a piece of land with a bunch of people scattered across it."

"I agree," said Enjolras.

"Really?" Grantaire did a double take. "Since when have you ever agreed with anything I say?"

"I agree that a nation is based on belief, that it is more of an idea than anything physical," Enjolras explained. "You're right insofar that the law and morality and civil rights are all subjective human constructs and are by no means infallible. Believe it or not, I can see why it would be easy to be cynical about them. But if you are, you're missing the point."

"Then please enlighten me," Grantaire said dramatically, still in shock from having Enjolras agree with him. "What is the point that I am so greatly missing?"

"That some things are worth dying for, even if they are only ideas," Enjolras insisted. "Because ideas don't just remain inside people's heads. They become real through the actions that they take towards others. To help them or to harm them."

"That's a dangerous way of thinking, Apollo," said Grantaire, taking a sip of brandy from the bottom of the bottle. "That way of thinking has gotten a lot of people into a lot of trouble. Every war in history was fought over the belief that ideas are worth dying for. Abstract notions of 'love of country'. But how can you love your country if there's no country to love? Why do you have to see the rest of humanity through this distorted lens? Why do you buy into the lies? They are the same lies priests tell their congregations to fill their own coffers; it is no different except that they are demanding your blood. You're a smart man; you're educated; you know better than this. Tell me, if France were attacked tomorrow- by, let's say England, just supposing- would you go to war against England?"

"Of course," his friend replied without hesitation. "I would have a duty to defend my people."

"But are the English not also your people? Why should you kill another human being just because he happens to speak a different language and have been born on a different landmass? Would you temporarily- or permanently- turn a blind eye to the injustice in your own government to fend off the invaders? Tell me this: what if we were on the offensive?"

"I wouldn't enjoy it!" Enjolras exclaimed. "In this scenario, the English have gravely infringed upon our rights and safety. Still, I would fight only if there were no way to resolve things peacefully."

"Just like you would never build a barricade in the middle of the street and endanger innocent civilians unless there were no way to resolve things peacefully," Grantaire said.

"I know you're being sarcastic, but yes, exactly." Enjolras folded his arms stubbornly and faced Grantaire with a look of defiance.

"Sometimes I think you are a precocious three-year-old trapped inside the body of a grown-up angel," Grantaire mused with a condescending chuckle. "You have the intelligence to understand the world, but not the experience. Listen to your elders, little one. Live and learn. It's better than the alternative."

"Which is what?"

"Dying and learning. Living and not learning. Learning only when it's too late."

Enjolras sighed heavily. "Grantaire, we've been over this before. It's not a suicide mission. The people are going to join us."

"Because they love Patria?"

"Yes. And because they are Patria."

"So they love themselves?"

"Yes. And they love each other."

"And they love you."

Enjolras scoffed. "They don't even know me."

"They would love you if they did. I suspect many more of them know you than you think. They love hearing you speak, and they love your passion and fire. They'd fight for you, I bet. Even die for you."

"Because I, to them, am not me. I am a representation of what they want to hear." The realization, put so bluntly, stunned him. He had been preaching to the choir, but perhaps there was nothing he had truly accomplished. He stepped back, and his gaze dropped to the floor. "A representation of their country."

"You are my country, Enjolras," Grantaire said in a reverent whisper. "Perhaps I can honestly say, after all, that I love Patria."


End file.
